


A friend of the devil is a friend of mine

by Mikhailov



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bargaining, Creepy, Creepy graveyards, Deals With The Devil, Emotional, Fog, Gothic, Gothic Literature, I really liked it so I wanted to share, Lots of atmosphere, Mystery, Open Ending, Origin Story, Other, Resurrection, Short Story, Short gothic story, This is my own interpretation of Lucifer, atmosphere, emotional distress, this was an english project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 17:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20782361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikhailov/pseuds/Mikhailov
Summary: Something I wrote as a project for English class, I was proud enough of it I wanted to share it here





	A friend of the devil is a friend of mine

It’s so cold. It’s so very cold. Making me tug my many fur jackets closer to my person. The wind moans as it passes through the trees, blowing forth the fog that encases the graveyard, holding it in its gentle, yet cold embrace. Dead grass crunches under my feet, the sound echoing around the empty graveyard. The fog curls around me, swirling in intricate patterns, as if beckoning me towards the grave that calls my name. I yearn- oh how I yearn to hear his voice once more. I see his eyes when I close mine, I hear his laughter haunting my dreams. I wish to hold his hands again. To hear my Nathaniel’s voice as not a phantom, but real.

The graveyard is all you would expect when one thinks of an eerie graveyard. Cracked, mossy, gravestones. Crooked obelisks and rusted fences that do more harm the longer they’re up. With all the fog, it’s the perfect cliche. The ‘tick tock’ of an old clock brings me back to reality, and I see just how thick the fog is. It’s so dense I can barely see my hand a few inches in front of me and still, my feet know where to go. Calm singing picks up in my mind, one of a voice I had never heard before, heavy with such sweet sorrows my eyes burn with unshed tears. I know I shouldn’t trust it, mother always said so “Never trust the unknown”, but it tugs at my heartstrings, pulling me along. 

Through the fog, I approach a grave and the singing grows louder and louder, breaking through my head until I’m sure it’s no trick of the mind, but someone's voice, and yet, it gets louder- and louder still! Until I make out the silhouette of a man in the fog. It should be impossible to see him, but he’s there, perched like a bird in its cage, sitting upon a grave, legs crossed. His voice is raw and rich, full of emotion. As I approach, the singing stops. I start to see more details. I can make out his suit, black as night overtop a white shirt. Above his suit, he wears a long red coat with a fur trim. He's looking to the other way, and as I open my mouth to call out to him, a sudden wave of anger comes over me. For he is sitting upon my lovers grave. With narrowed eyes I call out to him, demanding to know why he dares sit upon Nathaniel's grave. The man laughs, turning his head to me as the fog fades. Bright gleaming eyes, one red, one yellow lock on me. He gives me a proud, cocky grin, tilting his head, his ear length wavy hair bobbing with the motion. "Oh hello, good Sir. You’re right on time." He croons, folding his hands over his lap. He has an accent, not from here. Perhaps Cardiff. He keeps speaking but at first, his voice doesn't reach my ears until suddenly, it’s all I can hear. Overtaking me. It’s echoing around me, surrounding me. He has flitting laughter, it seems to come from all around, it’s suffocating at first, but soon, I’m leaning towards his voice. 

His voice is soothing, smooth, like a warm knife cutting through butter and he tells me the most wonderful things. He shows me all I’ve ever wanted, but soon, far too soon, I see past his words, see what’s behind them and the way he wishes to trick me. I stagger away from him, watching him with wide, fearful eyes, and Lucifer smiles at me. “How- oh. Why how... particular. Aren’t you a clever little thing?” He purred. “I would never have expected anyone to see through my charade so quickly.” He smiled. I try not to let his words get to me, try not to fall to the temptation of what he’s offering, but a part of me is curious. What if he isn’t lying? It seems absurd, but I want to know. I stand to my full height and yet he still towers over me, though perched upon Nathaniel’s grave. He gives me another small smile, reaching out his hands, holding one out to me. His nails are painted black, long and incredibly sharp.

“I can give you all that you desire, I only require… oh, how do you people say it? Your services.” Lucifer’s smile grows, warm and welcoming. I want to take his hand on his smile alone, it’s so very genuine, how could one fake a smile so true? He gives me a grin. “Why, what kind of services?” He laughs, though I never asked the question. “Good question!” He claps his hands together before extending one back to me, I reach out but hesitate, his eyes glow. “You’ll know when the time comes. In exchange, I’ll give you anything you want. I can even bring back dear ol’ Nathaniel.” He coos, patting the grave absentmindedly, he sounds truthful. And so against all the warning bells, my want was too great, and I grasp his hand. 

His hand was warm when ours touched. His grip was gentle when our fingers linked. He smiled gently, warmly and I blinked back at him. Blinked at his mismatched eyes and the scars that ran under and above his eyes, looking like cracks in marble. He was, for lack of a better term...captivating. With the exception of perhaps his eyes and scars, he looks so human. I blink again, and when I open my eyes, all is black, I can see Lucifer’s arm, but his body fades away in the darkness. Fearful of the endless black, I tighten my grip on his hand and when he laughs, it’s right in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “Careful now,” I can hear the grin in Lucifer’s voice. “It might be a bumpy ride. Don’t let go of my hand.” His voice was music to my ears even when I feared the dark, and an anchor for me when everything went black.

I woke, rather abruptly, to the soft pitter-patter of rain on the windows, a sound I knew well, and with a gasp. Quickly bolting upright in bed, a coil ready to spring. If not for the strong arms that caught me, I was certain I would have collided with the floor. I strained to keep my eyes open as whoever caught me sat me up in bed, careful hands moving from my arms, to my broad shoulders, to cupping my face. Once I’m fully awake, I’m met with concerned, wide green eyes. Some sort of dry sob forces past my lips as Nathaniel’s voices fill my ears, soothing my worries. I grabbed his hands, covering them with my own, and I pulled him close. This isn't real. I cannot believe what I’m seeing. Had this- had his death- had none of it been real? Impossible. I know he died. I know I lost him, but here he is, his forehead pressed against mine, giving me a reassuring look as he gently traces circles on my cheek. And though, for a moment, I see a flash of red, a flash of yellow and cracked scars, they’re gone a moment later. And all I see is Nathaniel staring back at me, a small smile on his face. All that matters is he’s alive. My dear sweet, handsome lovely Nathaniel.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, questions, concerns?  
Leave me some! I'm always open to feedback.


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